“Have you talked to your dad?” Andie whispers from her spot next to me in the last row of pews. I shake my head. “And the deposit that usually comes to my account isn’t there.” Andie takes the Bible in the pew in front of her, fingering the pages. “That sucks.” We’re at the funeral of a man I don’t know—a banker, apparently, who loved fly fishing. No one seems particularly torn up he’s gone except for a woman we passed on the way in who said she was his granddaughter. I gave her the entire stash of tissues from my bag, and the guilt I felt for being here...